


One Bullet

by WaffleLibrary



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Gun Violence, Home Invasion, Mental Breakdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:01:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28282857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaffleLibrary/pseuds/WaffleLibrary
Summary: Someone breaks into a paranoid man's house. With a missing wife and escaped arsonist, his paranoia can only rise in his solitary hell. And he has one bullet left.





	One Bullet

**Author's Note:**

> I'M SORRY I DIDN'T POST ANYTHING UNTIL LIKE A YEAR LATER
> 
> I blame a combination of my anxiety and 2020 being a stubborn bitch. I'll try to post more regularly when I can.
> 
> In the meantime, hope you enjoy and have a happy and safe Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/Thursday.

A loud shatter yanked Ethan out of sleep. His wide eyes darted around the room, the weight of the blanket suffocating. Nothing seemed changed. No broken windows, at least not in the room. He turned his head to the side. Abigail wasn’t there. Maybe she was still at work. Ethan eyed the alarm clock beside him, resting beside his phone. It read 1:37.  
  
1:37.  
  
Abby’s shift ended at midnight.  
  
She should be home by now.  
  
Did something happen?  
  
_Don’t be stupid. You can hear your phone, can’t you?  
_  
 _But the phone didn’t ring.  
_  
 _Maybe I didn’t hear it?  
_  
Ethan reached for his phone with paper white fingers and tapped the screen. He brought the blinding screen closer to see the messages or calls he might have missed. His insides twisted.  
  
Nothing.  
  
If she was going to be late, she would have at least texted him by now. She didn’t. Then…  
  
Someone’s here.  
  
Ethan set the phone back onto the nightstand and opened the drawer. His Browning Hi-Power sat beside his magazine. He took the magazine and glanced inside. One bullet left. He couldn’t risk reloading. He had to make this one count. He took the gun into his hands and inserted the magazine. He needed to take care of the intruder. He needed to move.  
  
_Now, before he finds you!  
_  
He slid his feet onto the rough carpeted floor. Static crackled as the blanket rubbed against his pants. He slowly stood, cringing as the springs underneath the fabric of the mattress groaned. His eyes quickly focused on the door. He barely heard footsteps from downstairs. His heart beats thrashed in his ears. His pistol in both hands, he thumbed off the safety switch, pulled the hammer back, took aim.  
  
The footsteps didn’t increase in volume.  
  
His lungs couldn’t release the air within them, nor could the muscles in his arms and legs relax. Ethan couldn’t move his leg to step forward. He kept trying to move it, but it couldn’t, as if his own leg knew of the danger on the bottom floor.  
  
_Maybe the guy doesn’t even know you’re here. He might be clueless. Come on, Ethan. You have to move.  
_  
His fingers adjusted their grip on the gun as a breath quivered up his tight chest. He stepped forward, not once taking his eyes away from the door. His hand reached for the doorknob and turned it. The quiet squeaks of the knob seemed amplified in his ears. He leaned the door open, the barrel of the gun facing the opening. No one was there, as he had thought. The intruder had to be downstairs.  
  
Ethan balanced himself on the tips of his feet as he crept out of his bedroom. The wooden floor beneath him didn’t creak. Thank God.  
  
He stepped along the seemingly endless hallway, his gun aimed wherever his glance landed. He knew he needed to keep his weapon at his side. He knew. His paranoia swallowed him, however, much like the flames surrounding his parents’ home years ago. The police had identified the arsonist shortly after he went mad from grief. He couldn’t believe anything she had said. He couldn’t believe his own dear friend, Thomas, would do such a thing. All because they couldn’t agree that Ethan was just not ready to move out of his home. He remembered the evil in his eyes, burning like the fire, swallowing the friendliness that once was. Ethan prayed Thomas got a life sentence, but it was all over the news. An arsonist escaped prison. He recognized the mugshot. He didn’t want it to be true, but…   
  
Ethan nudged the bathroom door open with a knuckle. He could barely see, but no one seemed to be inside. The night after Thomas was identified, he couldn’t trust himself to drive, when he had nearly hit a man. He couldn’t trust himself to work, when he had banged his head against an iron bar and nearly died due to his paranoia. He couldn’t trust himself with his own gun, when the barrel had been wedged gently between his jaws, his twitching finger hesitating to pull the trigger.  
  
Then he met Abby. He had no idea how Abby came into his life. He was still clueless tonight, but he didn’t care, not even when he had taken her to the fountain in the middle of the square and asked her the life changing question.  
  
A sudden clang of a pan hitting tiles. Ethan froze. He held his breath and tightened his grip on his gun, waiting for another noise. Nothing. He took in a small breath and continued walking.  
  
The stairs were right in front of him. Slowly, he peeked around the corner.  
  
The intruder stood in the kitchen. He couldn’t see who it was, for it was far too dark. All his mind could process was that the person was the trespasser. He might make it from where he stood…  
  
Ethan aimed his gun at the figure’s head with both hands. A miss would anger the intruder and cause him to fight back. His fingers twitched. He only had one shot.  
  
One bullet.  
  
_Make it count.  
_  
He pulled the trigger. There was a flash from the barrel as the recoil vibrated up his arms. The figure crumpled to the tile floor, behind the dinner table.  
  
Ethan’s lungs finally inflated at their full capacity, his body relaxing as he lowered his weapon. The intruder was gone.  
  
He descended the stairs. He needed to see if the man was truly dead. Even if he was, Ethan had some explaining to do. He may even have to serve time in prison. If it had to come to that, he wouldn’t care. He stepped into the kitchen. He immediately noticed the crimson splatter on the refrigerator, the droplets falling to the floor like thick tears. He peeked over the table.  
  
His breaths caught in his throat. His vision blurred. His gun slipped from his hand and fell to the floor with a loud clank.  
  
He couldn’t take it back. He couldn’t turn back time. He only had one bullet, and he wasted it.  
  
Ethan gripped handfuls of his hair and screamed Abby’s name.


End file.
